The Power of Madonna
by Sopphires
Summary: Post-season seven. Sam and Dean are driving through Oregon with Madonna on the radio, and, somehow, Dean is drawn out of the shell that he's been hiding inside of since his return from Purgatory.


**The Power of Madonna**

Sam had turned on the radio, and had the current station - it was local to Oregon and churned out old music that _wasn't_ to Dean's taste - up quite loud. He was vaguely aware that they were in the middle of some sort of "Monday Night Madonna Hour", and had turned up the music in the hope of getting Dean to comment on how he'd liked to sleep with her - such was the desperation of their situation that Sam would _gladly_ listen to Dean's crude, boastful talk - but Dean had remained silent, as he so often was, and Sam had resumed driving the stolen car (the Impala was sill very much a "shot me" sign that Crowley would take pleasure in hitting) in silence.

They drove for a couple of minutes more, and a new song came on the radio. Neither brother reacted to the change - it was _still_ Madonna - until Dean started laughing. It was such a rare occurrence that Sam nearly crashed the car into the lay-by in shock. He noticed, as he swung back into the lane accompanied by Dean's laughter, that it wasn't Dean's _normal_ laugh. It wasn't the laugh that Dean would give when he thought Sam had done something stupid as kids, or when he'd teased Sam for being clever, or even when he had successfully pranked him. This laugh was…ironic, cynical…maybe just a little bit _bitter_. It was like the song had reminded Dean of something, and he was laughing at the situation - but not in a good way.

_It's probably Cas_, he thought, morosely, _he's probably thinking about Cas_…

Sam, as he could _never_ mention the topic of Cas even if Dean was sitting with his trench coat (how did that thing _always_ survive?) on his lap, listened more intently to the radio. It was busy blaring out _Like a Virgin_, and Sam thought back to all the strange things Cas had done, which were numerous indeed, and could only draw a bank about Cas' sexual life, something that he shuddered at because thinking about _Dean's_ was bad enough. The closest his mind could come to was Cas kissing Meg, but couldn't understand why Dean would find it funny - Sam was sure that _that_ memory would forever be ingrained into the "don't-go-there" section of his mind.

If Dean laughing in that - if Sam was being honest, and Sam was _always_ honest inside his head now that it was _his_ again because it was the _only_ place he could be - creepy manner though out the whole song wasn't bad enough, he continued to laugh as the song changed. Sam shot his brother a concerned look, wondering whether thinking of Cas in a reminiscent manner had finally caused the fragile rock that was his brother to crumble into pieces. He'd been doing it so well, holding it all together, but as he continued to laugh in an increasingly maniacal way, Sam could all but _see_ the spider web cracks that were etched into the lines of Dean's face widening.

Sam switched off the radio - he couldn't handle Madonna _and_ a losing-his-marbles Dean - and Dean stopped laughing instantly, as if he had thought Sam could not hear him over the radio. Sam could see that a faint grin remained on his face, and that it was definitely bitter. Sam sighed, heavily, as he noticed Dean's hand had wound it's way into the folds of the coat, and decided it was time to break the all important rule of silence.

"What's so funny?" he inquired, deciding that it was far safer to start the conversation with that as opposed to Cas because he knew he'd be shut off immediately. Dean shrugged, still grinning as if someone had carved it into his face like it was a pumpkin on the hateful holiday that was Halloween.

"Just…I told Cas-" and Sam almost crashed again at Dean voluntarily mentioning Cas, and saying his name. "-that I knew two things for certain; one, Bert and Ernie were gay, and two…that he wasn't going to die a virgin." Sam blinked, not recalling the situation and came to the conclusion that this was from the good old beginning-of-the-apocalypse days - not something he'd ever have thought that he'd think, but with Crowley, and the demons, and Purgatory and _Dean_, it was sadly true - when he'd "quit" the hunting business.

"I see…" he said, still not sure why that was so funny.

"It was just before we met the Mutant Ninja Turtle-" so he'd only broken _that_ Purgatory habit, of never calling anyone by their real name, with Cas. Sam was mostly referred to as "The Abomination" or "Sasquatch" - the first he no doubt had Cas to thank for, but he never protested. "-and Cas thought he'd die…kind of fucked that up." Sam nodded absent-mindedly, guessing that Cas was still a virgin.

"What happened?" he asked, tentatively, worried that if he pressed too hard Dean would retreat inside himself. Dean shrugged again.

"We went somewhere and I got him a beer…Cas freaked out about being in a "den of iniquity" and I pointed out that he rebelled against Heaven and so iniquity was one of the perks. I hooked him up with someone called Chastity-" Sam snorted despite himself, and Dean nodded, before shrugging and continuing. "-and gave him cash, told him not to order off the menu, just to stick to the basics…" Sam looked at his brother, noting the fact that his voice was becoming distant, and wondered whether he was loosing him again.

"What went wrong?" he prompted, after they'd sat in silence for several more minutes, Dean winding his hand in and out of the folds of the coat. Dean blinked, and Sam guessed that he'd dragged him back from distant memories. Dean shrugged, and Sam barely noticed because he did that every time before he spoke - he guessed it was another purgatory habit designed to keep him and Cas alive.

"I was enjoying a drink when I heard smashing and I shouting. I went through and Chastity-" Sam was surprised that Dean used her first name, again, instead of referring to her as "the prostitute" or "the hooker", and wondered if Cas had anything to do with that. "is shouting and throwing bottles…I asked Cas what was wrong, and he told me that he'd looked her in the eyes and said that it wasn't her fault her dad ran off; that it was because he hated his job at the post office. Then security came, and we had to run and I laughed…" he trailed off, shifting in his seat before shrugging. "I hadn't laughed that hard in a long time…I had so much fun…"

Sam swallowed, feeling strangely moved Dean's story, though he didn't know why because it was about how he attempted to get his friend laid, and marvelled at the fact that Dean could remember it all so clearly. He seemed able to recite the conversations almost word for word, and Sam wondered; had Dean sat up in purgatory and recited that story? Was that how he'd stayed sane? Purgatory may have broken Dean's spirit - Sam had never worked out how much time had elapsed for Dean in the year and five months he'd been missing, but he knew it had been longer - but Dean's mind was whole.

_Maybe_, mused Sam, _that's the problem. They stayed sane so that they could live, but Dean… Dean can remember __**everything**__ that happened… He's still sleeping on the floor in the trench coat by the nearest exit, and he still needs to feel the air, and he can't let go of their protective habits…He's a good hunter, of course he is; he had to fight for his life, but he's different now, and I can't do a thing…_

"I really fucked that up," muttered Dean, tearing Sam from his pondering. Dean's gaze was unfocused, as it so often was, but Sam knew he was alert. "He died _so many times_…all for me…" Sam knew that there was something that he didn't quite know about in that, and he knew that it was to do with Dean being here, and the only indication of Cas' existence being the trench coat, and their fragile memories.

"He could still be alive." he offered, vainly trying to life Dean's spirit. Dean's fist clenched into the trench coat, the other hand reached around his torso to the place that - Sam knew - had borne Cas' handprint scar.

"No." he said, quietly but firmly. "I'd know." Sam didn't argue the point. He had no idea of what kind of bond had formed between Dean and the fallen angel in their time together in Purgatory. Who knew what extra - _final_ if Dean was to be believed - sacrifice the angel had made to get the elder Winchester brother back. Sam just knew that he, and his fruitless attempts to break them out of Purgatory, had nothing to do with Dean appearing in a field, exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated and clutching the bloody trench coat precisely six months, two weeks, five days and two hours ago. Sam hadn't even known about his reappearance until Charlie had contacted him one hour and two minutes after the event.

Charlie was one of two allies the Winchester brothers possessed, the other being Sheriff Jody Mills. Both women had contacted him after the events at Sucrocorp to confirm the demise of the Leviathens and to check up on whether they were still alive - Jody had also brought reports of demon attacks. Sam, alone and helpless, had confided in them both. Charlie had, wisely, decided to not get physically involved again, but she had set about tracking demons, researching things for him and keeping an ear to the ground for news of Dean, Cas or Kevin - the poor prophet was still missing and Sam had almost given up hope on him. Jody, however, had taken to hunting full time - something he was grateful of because there was a diminishing amount of hunters in action - and was also responsible for breaking Dean out of the hospital before someone could attack or arrest him.

Glancing back at his brother, Sam noticed that Dean had curled into himself, and, not for the first time, Sam wished that Bobby was still here, in whatever capacity. Bobby would have been able to snap Dean out of his mental funk. He would have been able to bulldoze down the protective walls that Dean hid behind, and drag him back to reality. It wouldn't have been kind, and it might not have been what was best for Dean, but the Winchesters couldn't really afford that.

Sam knew that, for Dean to be at his most affective - and by that he meant not swinging into action _just_ before he was about to be killed - he had to make Dean focus. He remembered Dean with Cas when he woke up, not accepting that he was crazy and getting frustrated with him being unhelpful. Sam guessed that he might need to act like that to Dean, but Dean _wasn't_ crazy…and Sam just _couldn't_ do that.

He sighed, heavily, and Dean glanced at him. There was a look of brief concern on his face, but Sam was almost sure that he imagined it. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and glanced at his brother again. For some reason, Sam felt that if he wanted to say anything - about Purgatory, Cas or _anything_ - now would be the time to do it. However, for once, he just couldn't find the words. He'd spent months biting his tongue to stop himself from upsetting Dean, but now - the one time he was sure his brother wouldn't overreact - he had nothing.

"Alright, Sammy?" Sam involuntarily swung the steering wheel, swinging onto the lay-by and getting a blare from a passing car. He stamped onto the breaks, switching off the engine.

"What- what did you just call me?" he demanded, twisting around in his seat to look at his brother. His brother looked at him, confusion showing up on his features. Sam blinked some more, so use to him looking blank, pained or angry.

"I called you Sammy." replied Dean, not seeming to realise what that meant to Sam. Sam hadn't heard it in _ages_. He was over the moon; why couldn't Dean see that?

"But, you haven't- you don't call me that." Dean looked at him. He blinked, his face turning blank. Sam sighed and turned the engine back on, indicating that he was going back onto the road and driving back into their lane. Dean reached forward and turning on the radio. Madonna was _still_ playing, but Dean didn't start laughing.

_Thank god_, thought Sam,_ I might not have gotten through to him, but at least I can be confident that he's still in there - somewhere._

Sam didn't recognise the song, straightaway, but became acutely aware that Dean was moving around in his seat to the song. He was swinging his upper body from side to side, wiggling his shoulders and bopping his head in time to the beat. Sam looked at him, more than a little bit surprised that Dean was beginning to lip-sync along; how well did Dean know Madonna?

"_We've only got four minutes to save the world_!" sung Dean, and Sam burst out laughing, finally paying attention to the lyrics. "_No hesitating, we only got four minutes, four minutes_!"

_Well_, mused Sam, thoroughly amused, _at least it's relevant, and it's not about sex. This kind of feels like when we sang "Dead or Alive", guess it **is** kind of the same thing…_

"_Sometimes I think what I need is new intervention_-"

"_Yeah_!" sang Sam, not at all on key, and Dean looked at him. There was no soppy exchange of looks; no silent communication that said everything was okay because Dean's expression didn't change, but he did reach forward and turn up the volume.

"_The road to hell is paved with good intentions, __**yeah**__, but if I died tonight at least I can say I did what I wanted to do; how 'bout you_?"

Sam could almost feel the smile working it's way onto his face as he joined in the singing. He'd missed this; the two of them on the road with the music turned up too loud and no place to go. There was something they were hunting - there always _was_ - but it was so distant. There was just a strip of tarmac, the night sky and the two brothers, _singing_. Sam privately thanked Madonna as Dean tipped his head back, belting out the song that could probably used as the theme tune to their lives (even if Dean would _hate_ it), and considered - as a way of saying thank you - buying her album when they pulled into the next town.

"_We only got four minutes, four minutes!" _


End file.
